Advanced Technology
by bursts-of-vibration
Summary: Santana learns why you shouldn't touch other peoples stuff. Now a two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

"I swear to God, Rachel, you better not be doing what it fucking feels like you're doing," warned Santana while almost rolling off the side of the bed in an effort to get as far away as humanly possible from the jerky movement of Rachel's right arm.

Rachel let out an indignant squeak. "_Really_, Santana? Could you **be** any more disgusting? Do you honestly believe that I would do what you're implying I'm doing while there's another person occupying my bed?"

"I don't know what kinda kinky shit you're into, Berry. Alls I know is that your elbow has been poking me in the back for the past five minutes and the last time something did that, it turned out to be a strap-on Brittany forgot to take off before we went to sleep."

**"Santana!"** scolded Rachel. "For your information, I decided to try a new moisturiser and I think I may be allergic to it. I was scratching an itch,"

Santana snorted.

Rachel ignored her and continued, "I was not...doing, _that_."

Santana rolled-very carefully due to her precarious position-onto her side to face an outraged and slightly embarrassed Rachel and scoffed, "_That?_" mocked Santana, "Oh please, stop acting like a blushing virgin. These walls are very, very thin; I could hear you and Man-whore McGiggelo getting your freak on from the other side of the loft. By the way, you owe me like, fifty bucks for all the bleach I had to buy and pour into my ears to try and rid myself of those _awful, horrific, nightmare inducing_ sounds."

Rachel's face remained blank as she kicked out her leg, hitting a smirking Santana right in the boobs, causing the girl to squeal as her body suddenly became airborne before hitting the ground with a grunt.

"Sorry. I slipped. Must have used too much moisturiser."

Rachel's apology was met with silence. Concerned, Rachel shuffled over to Santana's side of the bed.

"Santana?" she questioningly whispered into the darkness.

At the lack of response, Rachel started to panic; hundreds of horrible scenarios played through her minds eye at what she'd find when she looked over the side of the bed.

_Santana sprawled out on the floor, blood gushing from the open wound on her head. __**Dead**__._

_Santana's cold, lifeless eyes staring accusingly back at Rachel. Her neck twisted at an odd angle. __**Dead**__._

_Santana whipping around her carefully hidden 'sleeping aid' like a sword while it buzzed quietly._

That thought caused Rachel to very nearly throw herself off onto the floor; unwilling to subject herself to the jokes and jabs Santana would undoubtably throw her way at such a find.

"It's not what it looks like!" she pleaded. "The sales assistant said it back a back massag-" her rambling excuse coming to a sudden halt when her eyes landed on nothing but empty wooden floorboards.

"What on Earth? Santana?"

"Back massager, huh?"

The start from hearing Santana's voice was coming from somewhere behind her instead on beneath her were she was supposed to have been caused Rachel to topple head first onto the floor.

"How did you-"

"Crawled under the bed." she dismissed.

Rachel stood, her eyes never leaving the subtle back and forth motion of the object the women standing opposite her holding.

"What kind of, " Santana made air quotes "_Back massager,_ lights up?"

"Yes, well, I mean, it's a new model…for…uhhh…night time use."

Santana raised a sharp eyebrow. "_Mhmm._"

Hands on hip, Rachel stomped her foot while insisting, "It's advanced technology!"

Santana jiggled the vibrator teasingly. "And I guess it being shaped like a dick is just 'advanced technology' too, right? Helps to reach those, _hard to get places._"

Rachel had two options; either continue to unsuccessfully try and convince Santana that what the girl was holding was a benign back massager, or, she could just admit that she was a grown woman and that there was nothing wrong with owning a vibrator.

Or...

"You do realise that if what you are so obnoxiously waving about, is in fact, what you believe it to be, that means that said object has come in to contact with certain places of mine. _Places,_ Santana."

Rachel tried not to let her triumph show as Santana's face turned from smug, to questioning, followed quickly by realisation and then finally stopping on horrified. She really did, but the speed in which Santana dropped the toy and ran from the room and into the bathroom muttering to herself the entire time while frantically rubbing her hands up and down her sleep shorts made chest swell with a sense of prideful accomplishment.

Confident Santana wouldn't tell a living soul about one of the most mortifying moments she's ever experienced, Rachel climbed back into bed with a smile on her face while Santana spent the next twenty minutes locked in the bathroom; scrubbing her hands with too much soap while trying not to heave.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - This is for the lovely anon who should not call herself (himself?) a dummy because posting this as a second chapter was a good idea, sooo, thank you! Anywho, I'm just gonna leave this here for you guys. Enjoy ladies (and gents?). _

* * *

It took _one whole week_ before the need to randomly stop in the middle of whatever she is doing and find a bathroom to wash her hands left Santana.

(She still carried around a travel sized hand sanitiser but insisted that it was because she didn't want to catch anything if ever she accidentally touched something on the train or like, that one homeless guy who sits outside their building talking to himself and occasional throwing what she prayed to God was watered down black coffee and not pee.)

On the upside, all that time spent scrubbing away the memory of that night from her hands afforded her some time to think.

And plot.

Because there was no way, _no way_ Santana was going to let Rachel Berry of all people, think she'd beaten Santana Lopez at her own game.

That obnoxiously loud garden accessory thought she was clever? Thought she could embarrassed the shameless? Asking all faux innocently if the cucumber had been washed before Santana pulled it out of the fridge to use in her salad.

_"You never know where it's been, Santana"_

_Please._ There was no way Santana was going to let Rachel continue to think walk around like she was top dog; all smug and smirky whenever she caught Santana subconsciously rubbing her palms against her the side of her pants.

Not a chance in hell.

Rachel wanted to play?

Okay, she'd play.

**Game on, bitches.**

Tuesday afternoon found Rachel navigating her way through the loft, head down and focused on replying to a text from Quinn who had asked if she was busy this weekend.

Hitting the send button before pocketing her phone, Rachel forwent any kind of shared house etiquette, like announcing ones presence, before she opened the door and walked completely unannounced into the bathroom.

She really should have knocked.

Stunned into imobility, Rachel stood frozen mid stride as she stared disbelieving at the sight she was greeted with.

There, standing in the middle of the room, was a naked from the waist down Santana, left leg propped up on the toilet seat.

Santana lifted her head slowly, her focus moving from between her legs, to a gaping Rachel. "Didn't anyone teach you that it's rude to stare, Thumbelina?"

The question broke Rachel out of her brief catatonia. Blinking furiously, she smacked her palms across her eyes and spun around on her heel so violently that Santana actually thought the girl had given herself whiplash.

Facing away from Santana, Rachel started to furiously stutter, "I-I-I didn't- I m-mean- Y-y-you weren't s-supposed to be- I'm s-so sorry, Santana."

"Okay. So since I didn't actually catch any of that due to the fact that it was you talking and I tend to just kinda, blank out when you do, I'm just going to ask one question."

"Please make it quick. I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one day."

Santana smirked.

"Could you stop using my razor? All that deforestation you've been doing between those stumps you call legs has blunted mine, and I needs to get my silky smooth on."

Santana watched as the back of Rachel's head shook back and forth.

"_What?_ Santana, I have **not** been using your razor."

"Umm, _yes_, you have. I threw your razor out a couple of days ago because it looked gross and I can not share a space with some ratchety ass razor staring at me while I'm trying to take a shower."

"But we don't even use the same razors!" argued Rachel.

Santana shrugged, "There was a sale on at place that smells like old people and feet you and Kurt insist on buying your, and I use this term loosely, 'beauty' crap from."

Rachel paled, "Oh, my God."

"And you know how much I love me a good sale."

"Oh my God," repeated Rachel.

Santana didn't bother putting her pants back on, she just picked them up and threw them over her shoulder as she sauntered towards a muttering Rachel.

"You know," Santana came to stop right behind her, "You really shouldn't use other peoples things, Rachel. You never know where they've been." she whispered straight into the other girls ear.

Santana basked in Rachel's silence and let the words sink in for a moment before she side stepped past her.

"Oh, and while you're out, we need milk" Santana reminded casually, throwing Rachel a wink from over her shoulder before she walked away.


End file.
